If it Takes Forever
by Orangejolius
Summary: Kyle has found himself in a dangerous, complicated situation. How do you walk away from the people you love the most, when they're the ones hurting you too?


"Every time it rains, it rains...pennies from Heaven..."

"Sir, can you hear me?"

What Kyle assumed was a flashlight illuminated the car. Instinctively, he cringed away. The movement caused his head to ache terribly. As it was, all he could manage to do was rest his cheek on the steering wheel, willing himself not to pass out from the pain. Vaguely, he could hear voices through the fog filling up his head, along with the soulful melancholy of Billie Holiday.

"How's he look?"

"Pretty bad. I think he's about to pass out."

"Sir, sir. The person that did this to you, where are they now?"

Sluggishly, Kyle tried to speak. The officer bent down closer to try and hear him.

"What did he say? I can't hear a thing over that damn music," an irritable voice asked.

The officer straightened up. His voice was grim when he answered.

"He won't tell me. He says it was an accident."

That was the last thing Kyle heard before darkness enveloped him, and he was gone.

He woke up in a strange place. A foreign, white place that smelled like hand sanitizer and something he couldn't put his finger on, but it was unwelcoming.  
Immediately, Kyle was afraid. He didn't know this place; didn't understand why he was there, lying in a white bed with tubes running out of him. Vague aches and pain radiated through him, and a single thought arose, briefly:  
"He won't stay down. What do I do?"  
"Tie him tighter, stupid. What do you think?"  
And then, like a flash, the thought receded into the place where memories are beyond reach. It did, however, make Kyle hold up his hands to examine his wrists. A plastic bracelet hung loosely around his left wrist, and beneath it he could see deep, angry-looking bruises still beginning to form. His right arm didn't look any better. A needle was inserted into the crook of his right arm, clear fluid pumping slowly into his body. Scratches and bruises were scattered all over his arms, and oxygen, through tubes in his nose, smelled stale and dry as it entered his nostrils.

Ah, yes, the hospital. His old stomping ground. Now he felt stupid for not recognizing it the moment he woke up. Heaven knew he'd been to Hell's Pass enough times to know it like the back of his hand. Luckily, he was in a private room so he didn't have to talk to anyone at the very least.

A chubby nurse bustled into the room at that moment, wearing powder blue scrubs. She smiled when she saw Kyle was awake.

"Hi there," she said, cheerfully. "I'm Kelly. How are you feeling? You were out for quite awhile, hon." She bustled around, checking his vitals, all the while watching him with thinly-veiled concern.

"I feel a little confused," Kyle admitted, faltering a little when he spoke. "Why am I here?"

Now it was Kelly's turn to look confused. "You're here because it looks like someone took a baseball bat and beat the crap out of you."  
Right after the words escaped her lips, she looked ashamed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put it quite that way."  
Kyle grinned. "Don't apologize, I'm sure I look like shit."  
She looked relieved. "Are you in a lot of pain? You are due for another round of your pain meds."  
Kyle considered it. He wasn't comfortable by any means but he wasn't in agony either. Besides, his head was already fuzzy enough, he didn't need any help in that regard.  
"I'll pass, thanks."  
She looked genuinely surprised. "Are you sure? We're pretty sure you were kicked in the back of the head. You needed 10 staples."  
"Oh, is that why my head feels so funny?" Kyle lifted an arm to gingerly touch the back of his head.  
"Well, don't mess with your bandages now! Just leave them be." She firmly took hold of Kyle's arm and laid it gently on the bed. "And no sudden movements. You're going to be dizzy for quite awhile."  
"Great, something to look forward to." Kyle rolled his eyes. Even that minute action made his head throb. Kelly noticed immediately.  
"You sure you don't want those pain meds? And I wouldn't recommend rolling your eyes. They're both black."  
"Jesus Christ. Would you care to tell me what else is wrong with me?" Kyle asked. "And, yes, dope me up. What the hell, it's a party, right?"  
Kelly gave him a look and took a syringe from the tray she'd carried into the room. "Sweet pea, I'm not going to sugar coat it. You're in a pretty bad way. It's horrifying that someone could hurt another human being the way you've been hurt. It just breaks my heart."  
"What do you mean?" Kyle asked.  
"Well, you couldn't have possibly done all this to yourself." She said, simply. "I mean, that much is obvious."  
"It is?" Suddenly Kyle wanted to cry. He didn't even know what to think or feel. His head felt heavy and he felt so confused.  
Just then, a man walked in briskly, like he owned the place. He didn't even bother to knock.  
"I'll take it from here, nurse. You can go now." He said crisply. His face plainly stated that he didn't expect any objections.  
The nurse bristled. "Excuse me? I was just about to give my patient something to help his pain. And just who are you, anyway?"

"I'm a detective. I'm here to ask your patient a few questions about why he's here." He stared at her, impassively.

"Is that really necessary right now? Give him time to rest before-"

He cut her off. "It's very important that I ask him these questions as soon as possible. That way the information I'm gathering is more accurate. Besides, I don't have to explain any of this to you. Now if you'll excuse us." He grabbed a chair by the wall and plunked it down next to Kyle's bed. He sat, grabbed a tiny notebook from his breast pocket and flipped it open.

"How do you know he even wants to talk to you?" She snapped. "Show a little compassion here."

"I am. That's why I want to get his story so I can prosecute the bastard that did this." He turned to Kyle. "Son, is it okay that I ask you a few questions?"

Kyle felt shy in the presence of such a no-nonsense man. "I guess so."

The detective turned to the nurse. "Satisfied?" He asked.

She glared at him. "Fine. Kyle, if you need me, just push the call button next to your bed. I'll be right in." After giving the detective another dirty luck she turned on her heel and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her with a snap.

When they were alone, the detective's presence seemed to soften a little. "How you feeling?" He asked.

"Not too good, honestly." Kyle responded.

The detective shifted slightly in his seat. "I'm sorry I interrupted her before she was able to give you anything for the pain, but I need you to have a clear head so I can get some information from you."

Kyle wasn't sure he understood but he nodded anyway. "What's your name?" He asked, groping for something to say.

"I should've told you that already, I apologize. I'm detective Jenkins. Lee Jenkins." He reached out a hand. Kyle delicately shook it. "So, to begin with, do you want to tell me your version of what happened last night?" Jenkins asked.

"I don't remember anything." Kyle said, almost cringing because he didn't have a better answer to give.

Jenkins looked grim. "I suppose that makes sense. You did sustain some pretty serious head injuries. It's not surprising your memory is a little fuzzy. Do you remember anything at all? Even the smallest piece of information would be helpful, even if you think it's unimportant."

Kyle's mind briefly flicked back to that thought he'd had upon waking, the voices discussing tying someone down. Was that someone him? It had to have been, right? Or was he just crazier than he thought?

"Well, I do remember hearing people talking about tying someone up." He said, timidly.

The detective's eyes narrowed. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Kyle shrugged. "Other than that my mind is a blank."

"So you don't remember who said what, essentially."

"I-I guess." Kyle looked away, ashamed.

Out in the hallway, he suddenly heard an angry voice.

"Where is he? I want to see my boyfriend. I want to make sure he's okay!"

Instinctively, Kyle began to sweat. It was Stan. Instead of feeling relieved, he suddenly felt more afraid. Using his legs he pushed himself deeper into the pillows, willing himself to disappear. He could feel Jenkins watching him closely.

Stan burst into the room, his eyes wild and his coat hanging open like he'd thrown it on in a hurry. A five o'clock shadow made his face look more predatory than usual. He strode over to the bed.

"What happened? Tell me. Who did this to you?" He was frantic, clutching the bed rail and barking questions into Kyle's face. His eyes flicked over to detective Jenkins. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Detective Jenkins. I was asking Kyle a few questions before you, um, decided to grace us with your presence."

Stan's face turned red. "Detective? Kyle doesn't need to talk to any detective. Why are you even here?"

"Stan, please..." Kyle said, trying to placate him. A severe look from Stan shut him up quickly.

Jenkins gave Stan a cool look. "Have you even looked at him? I mean, he didn't get this way by falling down the stairs."

"What are you implying here?" Stan asked, his voice steely.

"I think it's pretty obvious what I'm implying. Now, if you don't mind -"

"Actually, I do mind. Kyle doesn't want to talk to you. Get out."

Jenkins stared at him. "Excuse me?"

Stan repeated himself, but this time he slowed down his words like he was talking to a petulant, somewhat stupid, child.

"Kyle doesn't want to talk to you. Get out."

Jenkins looked at Kyle. "And how do you feel about all of this?"

"I, uh, well -" Kyle stammered, lost for words and terrified of doing the wrong thing. Stan grabbed his hand, seemingly out of concern, but quickly began squeezing it hard enough to make the bones grind together. He was sly enough to do it in such a way that Jenkins wouldn't see.

"Can't you see he's confused and in pain? Why don't you just leave us alone." Stan's grip on Kyle's hand became tighter. Amazingly, the pain didn't register on his face. He had been trained well for just these types of situations. Fighting his confusion, the fear, and the pain, he defaulted to his natural state of total obedience.

"I don't need to talk to you. I'm fine."

Jenkins didn't seem surprised, but compassion flooded his eyes. "Are you sure that's how you really feel?"

"Stop badgering him. He already told you what he wants." Stan snapped.

Slowly, Jenkins turned his gaze on Stan, his eyes losing their softness and becoming cold. "I'm not talking to you, sir. I'm talking to Kyle. The last time I checked, he is an adult and is capable of speaking for himself. Got me?"

Staring daggers at him, Stan squeezed Kyle's hand again, harder than before. Kyle almost winced but he caught himself just in time. "Fine. Kyle? What do you have to say?"

Kyle gazed placidly at the IV in his arm. Dully, he repeated what he'd say before, that he was fine and had nothing to say. Stan's grip on his hand slackened, but only slightly. A perverse surge of joy rushed through him. He had pleased Stan.

Sighing heavily, the detective got to his feet while fishing something out of his pocket. He slipped a glossy card onto Kyle's nightstand. "Well, if you ever do feel like talking, there's my card. You can reach me anytime, day or night." He paused. "I'd be particularly interested in hearing more about those voices threatening to tie you up for struggling." He looked pointedly at Stan, his eyebrows cocked, gave Kyle's shoulder a gentle squeeze, and left the room.

The murderous look Stan gave Kyle after the detective left was enough to make him start to cry uncontrollably. Why had he said anything? He hadn't meant anything by it, the memories were like dreams; benign and unimportant. But now Stan thought he'd been telling lies, probably to gain attention, no doubt.

"Who was tying you up, huh, sweetie?" Stan asked, his voice dripping acid. He lifted up one of Kyle's skeletal arms to appraise the ligature marks marring his pale skin. "Poor kiddo, somebody really did a number on you. Now what could you have done to deserve such savage treatment, huh?" Ruthlessly, he slammed Kyle's arm down, pinning his wrist against the bed, digging his fingernails into the throbbing bruises. Kyle screamed. Stan slapped him.

"Shut up. I don't want that fuck tard coming back and asking more stupid questions. Just tell me honestly, what did you do to deserve the beating? If you're honest everything can go back to normal."

Kyle wracked his brain for the right answer. He couldn't remember anything but Stan wouldn't accept that as an excuse, of course. Finally, he decided to play it safe and go with something simple and to the point.

"I-I resisted when I was being restrained." He offered, stammering. He looked down at his hands.

Stan sighed. "I was so disappointed, baby. I was ready to take you as soon as Christophe slipped your collar around your neck, and then you balked at the thigh cuffs." Idly, he stroked Kyle's cheek. "You must have a mental block or something we'll have to tame out of you."

Kyle flushed at the thought of himself lying prostate, his thighs splayed apart by the black cuffs. It was almost like he was an offering for Stan and Christophe to devour. Even though his neck was bare he could almost feel the leather collar biting into his skin.

"I'm thinking that as soon as you're discharged we'll have to train you on the leash again, just to reassert your position in all of this," Stan murmured, a cruel glint creeping into his eyes.

Kyle could feel the color draining from his face. "No, please. I'll be good. I won't fight you anymore, I promise. I was just scared." He pleaded.

Stan stroked his back. "Don't worry, Christophe will take care of your fears. He'll break you down to the point where you won't need to feel fear at all. You'll only feel the wonderful things we'll be doing to your tight little body. Isn't that what you want?"

With effort, Kyle managed to sit up. "No, please, Stan. Don't let Christophe train me alone. You don't know what he does when you're away, he-"

"I know very well what he does, Kyle. I've seen the videos. I actually admire his work."

Any protests Kyle might have had died on his lips. Video tapes. Stan knew? He'd seen? All of it? Silent tears started slipping down Kyle's face again. There was a knock at the door then. Kelly poked her head in, saw that Kyle was crying and was instantly at his side.

"Oh, no, what happened, sweetie?" She laid a soft, cool hand on Kyle's forearm.

"It was that fucking detective. He got Kyle all riled up and anxious, and he's already in so much pain." He shook his head with well-orchestrated disgust.

Kelly frowned. "Would you like something to help you sleep, honey? You've been through so much today."

As much as Kyle didn't want to be coherent enough to deal with his horrible reality, he also didn't want to be continuously doped up so Stan could lead him around by the nose.

"No, I'm fine, really-"

"Give him the meds. I have power of attorney over . His condition makes it so he can't properly advocate for himself, so what I say goes. Besides, he needs to sleep so he can start to heal. Right?" He tenderly stroked Kyle's arm in an exaggerated display of affection. Kyle suddenly felt nauseous.

Kelly looked momentarily confused and then took a loaded syringe from a tray. Slowly she fed it into Kyle's IV and almost instantly Kyle was gone; dark waters passing over his head and completely swallowing him completely.


End file.
